Three days ago, me and my bird had a session of unprotected sex on the back seat of her dad’s car. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. I got the phonecall from her just this morning. She sounded anxious, upset; “something’s happened,” she said, “something we didn’t want to happen.” She hadn’t told anyone else, not even her mum, mainly out of embarassment, and she was basically trying to get me to sort it out; “If you hadn’t wanted that condomless shag, none of this would’ve happened in the first place.” I went round to see her, and told that instead of going to see an expert or whatever, she should sort it out herself, because the person she’d see might blab. I’d brought a knitting needle with me, so I sent her upstairs and told her to do the business with it. I can thankfully report that she did a cracking job, and the problem was solved there and then. Phew! The moral of the story is: if you want to have sex in a car, take your woolly jumper off, as it might catch something and tear.
.